Spiders on Mary Jane
by DanglingBits
Summary: MJ wonders if and why Peter never tried getting lit and wants him to be have fun for once instead of being a protective dad all the time. She finds out that it's because it'd be a big pain in her asshole, a new tourist trap for NYC, and officially being the co-star of a viral porn video. (Peter/MJ/?) (RYV-ish)
1. Vanilla Spice

**Vanilla Spice**

* * *

"Have you ever tried smoking before?"

Peter had a strange look on his face as he looked up from his paper. Mary Jane was almost worried—Peter, reading a paper. She felt better when she realized it was the classifieds. She spied some eclectic books there, one with a very textbook name. For a second she was afraid he'd been replaced by a pod person.

"I'm sorry," her husband said, blinking. "Did you just ask me if I ever tried smoking?"

Mary Jane nodded. "I did."

"Red, I'm at risk of dying more than seven times a week. Why would I ever try smoking?"

"See, _this_ is why it's a good thing I have powers-" she interjected.

"Yet you having powers and being at risk of dying like me and leaving our daughter without _both_ of her parents is another way to kill me. By stress," Peter finished with a smile. It was a played out discussion they had.

"I think you're getting gray hairs," Mary Jane said.

"Your fault Red."

"I'm taking credit for it. You'd look good with grey hair."

Peter looked back at the classifieds, chuckling. "Tell your friends."

"I'll have to beat them down with a stick if I do."

He looked up. "Don't you mean off?"

Mary Jane teased his leg with her foot. "I know what I said."

She went back to her breakfast. It was a quiet Saturday and as such it was a quiet breakfast. Waffles and cereal soaked in maple syrup with a plate of bacon. They had slept with his powers split between them. She couldn't remember who had suggested it, only that they worked out a system. If it was after midnight, she'd get Annie. And if it was before midnight, she'd get Annie. Peter had been stubborn on that.

Anyone who attacked them in their own home was his to deal with. His argument was that as the one with the most experience he was better for the job. It made sense, but Mary Jane knew he was just trying to keep her out of harm's way again. Stupid, loveable lug that he was.

Sleeping with his powers made her realize why Peter ate like a horse. More specifically, why fatherhood made him rock the superhero dad-bod something fierce. He'd gone from 165 pounds to 190 and it showed in the best way. The team they were, Mary Jane supposed it stood to reason she'd become the MILF to his DILF. She was still a little bashful about losing her supermodel body for a fecund one.

"And when I said smoking, I meant medicinal. Marijuana," she said and tucked into her food. Was almost sure her spider-sense (his spider-sense?) was ringing at the amount of calories she was faced with. It was going to go straight to her ass, she just knew it. "Not the tobacco kind."

"So the above the influence kind is better?" Peter asked with a sigh,. He flipped the page and chuckled. Mary Jane looked over the paper, sitting next to him, and saw he was reading the funny pages. The Miraculous Adventures of Mr. and Mrs. Ladybug.

"It sure is," she chirped. "Think about it: no lung cancer, so that's nice. And then there's the… um."

"You just want to know if I ever got high."

Mary Jane popped her lips five times. "Yes."

"And if I ever made any whacky sort of webbing pattern."

She looked into her husband's eyes and felt kind of guilty. She spent years getting him out of that and he was making her guilty by osmosis. She looked down. "Yes."

Peter got that tone of voice when he came to a conclusion. The one that sounded like he was either amused or enthused because he learned something—Annie did the same thing, daddy's little girl that she was. "You got pot, didn't you," he asked, eyes looking tired.

Mary Jane smiled innocently. "The kids nowadays call it 'getting lit'."

"Red, marijuana is illegal."

"Not in California."

"We live in Manhattan, sweetheart."

"They don't call it a doobie anymore, you know. Nowadays they call it-"

"Mary Jane."

"Yes?"

Peter rolled his eyes. Mary Jane watched the stubble of his five o'clock shadow dimple as he smiled—fatherhood had matured him. Her too, but he didn't have to worry about aging like milk. "…What gave you the idea that I'd even be interested in smoking marijuana?"

"Weed," Mary Jane corrected. "Smoking weed. Or pot, if you prefer."

"I'm the father of a very impressionable child, honey."

"Oh really? Who's the mother? Is she more attractive than me?"

"Only on days that end in Y," Peter said without missing a beat. "And she has spider-powers. Both of them. Having her smoking pot to do as the 'daddy do' isn't something I want."

Mary Jane nodded like she understood. She tapped the side of her owl with her spoon. "I hear your kid has red hair. Your wife, too. You know, you could trade one weed smoking redhead for the other. Get lit with one so you won't have to worry about the latter."

"Or what, you'll blackmail me?"

"No but I'll tell your daughter that you have glaucoma and she'll be deathly worried for you for about a day," Mary Jane chirped. "Until she looks it up and realizes that you can't get glaucoma because of your healing factor. Then she'll wonder what our health insurance is for."

"I'm just saying you can't be too careful," Peter said, and out came the father of her child. "I want my daughter to be safe…"

She took a scoop of cereal and kissed him. Greedy lug took her food. "So what do you think?"

"I think I shouldn't tell you what I think. My spider-sense is ringing and this sounds like one of those tests wives give their husbands."

She shook her head. "No, see, that was yesterday. I asked you if that pair of underwear made me look fat and-"

"-I failed miserably," he said with a proud smile on his face.

"-Said 'Dear diary, only her ass looks fat'. Then I couldn't stand up for an hour," Mary Jane said. "This is one of those 'let's do something fun'."

"Fighting crime isn't fun?" He asked innocently. "I think it's fun. Worrying about my wife and child getting squashed by Galactus is _so fun."_ She kicked his shin lightly. He kicked her back. "I _think_ this is one of those 'let's do this before we get old' things."

Mary Jane blinked. "You think I'm having a mid-life cris- wow you really should have kept your mouth shut." She frowned. "No sex for you. Sleep on the couch tonight."

"I'll make sure to bring your pillow so you can bite it tonight," he said, going back to his paper.

"This isn't one of those things, no," Mary Jane continued. "It's… Okay, so, pot is supposed to make you really… relaxed, right? And you're stressed. You said it yourself. You're stressed—worrying about your family is making you stressed."

"Actually I said worrying about my family is likely going to be how I die. Worse ways to go. I could be pinned down and snu-snu'ed by the symbiote family."

" _Tss,"_ Mary Jane hissed at him for interrupting. "So we would… get lit together so you can unwind. God I feel old for saying that."

"It does sound stupid."

"But cool when I say it, right? I'm a cool mom right?"

Peter crossed his leg, read the paper, and took a sip of what he'd say was coffee but what she knew was Annie's fruit juice. Their little girl was still hunting down the 'el juice-bandito'. "Whatever you say dear."

Mary Jane 'humphed'. "I also heard it's a muscle relaxer. Never tried it myself, but," she looked at him to see if she had his attention. Not yet. "You did want to do… that, and I know I said I'd try to… limber up for it." She cleared her throat.

Peter looked up, frozen. Inwardly Mary Jane sighed. She could almost hear the thump against the table. Her spider-sense rang at the possible threat to her delicate parts.

"This could be a fast track to that," she said, tugging on her collar. "Since- and I've been, ah, reading, it's usually tight, and… uncomfortable for the woman and…" there was no delicate way to say her husband's schlong would rip her in two if he squeezed it up her backdoor. Then again there was no delicate way to talk about receptive anal sex with the love of her life on a Saturday morning either. Being lit would have probably helped.

She decided to get it over with. "So if you wanted to fuck my ass, we have to get high," she said. Then she realized Annie was in the next room watching her cartoons. Peter watched the look of terror on her face.

He slowly set the paper down, then the juice, then his leg. Just to see Mary Jane's foot ventured into that area and she wasn't surprised by the wood he was sporting. She wasn't sure whether or not she should be flattered that her husband was in ready to breed mode just at the prospect of sticking it up her no-sunshine behind.

Peter took her hands in his. "If you think this will help me unwind," he said slowly, genuinely. For a second Mary Jane actually believed he was doing it for his own health's sake, not because he wanted to empty his balls up her chute. "Then I trust you and I think we should start soon because I got this ulcer I didn't tell you about last patrol and there was this nightmare that I got about Lady Stiltman taking you and Annie out shopping for doilies and then-"

As her husband rambled, Mary Jane was blinking and shaking his hands in understanding. While wondering how and why it felt like she was the one that just got took. Being married to a superhero was strange.

Being a superhero's assfucked wife, which she was sure she was going to be before long, was stranger.

* * *

"Here," Mary Jane said after she placed the small, innocuous bag on the table in their bedroom. It was green, looked more like grass shavings than anything. "Here we go."

Peter wasn't impressed. "Is this it?"

"I'm told it's very good stuff."

"By who, an ant?"

"By Felicia."

"She tried to get me to smoke for years. The last time was last month—she offered me a shopping bag of the stuff. For free."

Mary Jane blinked reticently. Guess Felicia still didn't like her much. Bitch. "Well," she started, faced with the prospect that Felicia had taken her money and would have given it to Peter free of charge, "W-we can share."

"Share?" Peter said flatly.

"Yes… share. Like husband and wife. What's mine is yours. My doobie is your doobie."

"You sound old. I thought it was weed?"

"I will smack you, Peter Benjamin Parker."

"Besides, shouldn't you be taking it?" He asked, innocently looking toward the ceiling. "Since you'll be… taking it?"

She crossed her arms. "That's not funny." It was a little funny. "And no, because you're like a jackhammer already. I need you sedate."

"Look if you wanted me to go easy all you need to do is ask. I can be gentle. We can still do anal too."

"I have asked," she said. Even a literal whiskey dick hadn't helped. It only made him hard of hearing and her hard of sitting. Numbed his pain tolerance or upped his durability too. "And no anal unless we… get lit. I'm not saying that anymore."

"What, anal?" Peter asked. "Please say it."

"Anal."

"Mary Jane Parker I love you with every fiber of my being."

"I bet you say that to all the women who let you fuck their ass," she sighed, only to stop when he started counting fingers. " _Really?"_

"What? Oh, no, the only one to- well, Felicia didn't like it." Victory for best girl, then. "She loved it."

Her husband was corrupted by a woman that jumped around in a latex suit since her teens. Mary Jane wasn't sure how to feel about that, either. "Let's not talk about Felicia."

"My wife started it."

She smiled. "What a silly woman she is…" and shook her head, "So, we… roll this up. Take a 'hit'-"

"A hit? Are you kidding me? What are you, some 80's movie extra?"

"Toke it?"

The day finally came when Peter was the one correcting her on vernacular. "Red, honey, just say smoke it. Or blaze it. Burn it. Take it to the head or 'hit it'. Not… _that."_ She gave him a look. "I've been on the streets since I was fifteen," he sighed. "I know how to speak street-lingo."

"Straight outta Queens," she said amusedly. "I'm married to a webslinging thug."

"I am a wanted man according to every precinct in the city. And Latveria for that time I called Doom Vicky."

"Ooh, a bad boy, I am _so_ enticed!" She jumped up and down, snickering as Peter's eyes watched her go. "So, I 'take a hit'-"

"-Never thought I'd see the day where you're the one that sounds like a nerd…"

"-And then you take a hit," she continued, smacking him on the chest.

"But what if there's spit on it?" She gave him another look. "What? You have a sloppy mouth."

"You don't seem to complain when I give myself lockjaw giving you 'head'."

"My amazing wife the red haired nerd, everybody!" Peter announced. "And that's different. I like you like that. You look pretty with my dick in your mouth but this… this is unhygienic."

Her husband just said she looked good sucking his cock and instead of thinking he was sexist, Mary Jane thought it was a compliment. The enemy of third wave feminists everywhere. "We 'French kiss' all the time, Peter."

"Good God woman, just stop. Cease all attempts at colloquialisms and say what you mean."

She crossed her arms. "Is having my saliva in your mouth that bad of an idea?" She tried to sound hurt but Peter was the one with designs on puppy dog eyes, not her. Her ace in the hole with this was her… other hole. She was at a disadvantage unless she bent over and spread 'em.

"It isn't, but we can skip the middle man," Peter said, and then his arm was around her waist. " _You_ take a hit, then you pass it to me. Like this."

His mouth was on hers and his tongue was in her mouth and Mary Jane rolled her eyes at how sloppy the kiss had gotten in seconds. He didn't seem to mind it then, with her tongue giving him a tongue lashing like it was, but then she realized he had planned this.

When he pulled away a trail of saliva connected them and she was a little hard of breathing. He was more than a little hard. She swallowed their spit and gave him an expectant look. "That's kind of it. Instead of swapping spit we swap a hit," he said, then looked impressed with himself. "Man, that was good. I should become a rapper."

She rolled her eyes. "I'll call Falcon and get you a record deal MC Arachnid."

"That's racist. Call Shang Chi. He knows some fresh rhymes when he hears 'em."

Mary Jane picked up the little green baggie and stared at it. "So, we kiss over a hit," it made them sound like Mr. and Mrs. Smith, "and then…" His hand excitedly groped her ass. Then his face was in it.. She sighed. "This better be good. Or I'm taking it out of Felicia's ass."

" _Mmmfmff?"_

"Yes I mean you. She loves it up the butt so much, let's see how she acts when there's a bar of soap being used as lube."

* * *

It had been years since the first time Peter had taken her up to the Empire State Building to watch the city. Now that Mary Jane could do it herself it lost its luster. Not because it was any less significant. Just because, while she did it, Peter was behind her watching her like a piece of fat assed meat. Or just her fat ass-meat, she supposed.

She zipped up to the top and stood with poise. Being a supermodel helped with being a Spider-Woman—one of several—who knew?

And Peter came up behind her, shamelessly sporting a hard-on that made her go crosseyed. He was shameless in costume usually but it being night time and her being, well, her, made him worse. She wasn't sure if she was jerking her chain or jerking him, but knew that her costume definitely felt smaller and those calories from breakfast had gone into all the wrong places. Or the right ones if your name was her husband.

"Is Annie safe?" He asked, showing that even with a hard cock and designs on being a literal pain in her ass, he still had his priorities."

"I was on the phone with Felicia on the way here," Mary Jane said. "They're watching Frozen tonight. She promised not to read her the fanfiction she wrote. I could have lived without knowing she wrote fanfiction. Especially Sven/Kristoff fanfiction- _ew._ "

"But is she _safe?"_ Peter stressed. It amazed her to see a man with such duality that he could use both his big head and slightly smaller head at the same time. She had hit the jackpot with him.

"Felicia? Probably. There's a chance Annie might fiddle with her webshooters and get it in Felicia's hair again. Then…" A creepy smile worked its way to her face. "Then my little girl gets sweets for whatever pictures she manages to snap."

"You're insane, slightly sociopathic when it comes to my exes, will likely worry me to death. And you're the mother of my child. I love you," Peter said.

"Flatterer."

While the city did its thing down below, Peter crept behind her with the grace of a three legged man who had a hard cock. So, himself. Still, it was impressive how softly he managed to nestle his way into her cheeks. Almost romantic, but the romance had gone out the window knowing that she was here to get high and buttfucked. Considering that making love was usually a pillow biting affair for her, a ball draining experience for him, and a repeat nearly every morning, though, it was likely that 'making love romantically' had ended a while ago.

Peter started to grind against her, his hard cock, slightly restricted by the material of his suit, testing the patience of hers. They were both stretched in a specific way but when his hands spread her cheeks and undeniably poked for access inside the crack of her ass she knew she probably should have kept the entire, "Let's get high so you can fuck my ass," thing secret until after they'd already done it.

She pulled out the dime bag of what Felicia had said was 'good kush'—if she sounded like a nerd then Felicia sounded like a full blown dork—as well as the little paper to go with it. Felicia doubted her ability and had written instructions on it. Mary Jane wrote instructions of her own in her mind on how Felicia could go fuck herself since she didn't have Mary Jane's husband.

She stopped short of sprinkling the pot down as Peter's cockhead glided up and focused its attention primarily on scaring the crap out of her asshole. So to speak. She had prepared repeatedly. "I can't do it with you doing that," Mary Jane said, pausing with the bag and paper between her fingertips. "I'll drop it."

Peter smiled into her ear, sending shivers down her spine. "Bend over and pick it up, then."

"It's going to drop on the street."

She thought she heard a tear in his suit. "Just gonna have to bend over for a long time then…" He muttered, going into his own little world. And Mary Jane knew she had a limited window before he coaxed her into chewing on her knuckles while he creaked her open. She was already getting wet from knowing that, just not in the right place.

"Just… back up, Tiger," she said, forcefully pushing herself away rather than him. She ended up walking down the wall to do it. She turned and faced forward, or up and Peter. Not because she realized gravity would inevitably take the pot when she opened it, but so Peter wouldn't scope her ass like a lion hunting a gazelle and pounce her patootie down to their deaths.

Peter, with all the patience she knew him for, which was substantial, watched and tapped his foot. "I could be spending time with my child," he muttered. "But my wife wanted to get lit. …I'm a good husband, right Red?"

"Your wife is so lucky," Mary Jane said absently. She licked the paper, as per Felicia's instructions, and dusted the bag over it, then 'rolled the joint'. Wasn't so hard.

"I'd say she's fucked."

"Not as fucked as you're going to be if you try to work that wrench up her ass without this," she chirped, ignoring his muttered, "Well she might like it…" response.

She held out the joint to him. "Got a light, Tiger?"

Even with the mask on she saw he was looking at her like she wasn't too smart, just the love of his life. And that was fine by him. "I don't smoke, Red. _Why_ would I have a lighter?"

She took a breath. "Well I didn't bring a lighter."

She had a feeling he was closing his eyes. When he took a deep breath and sighed, Mary Jane full out laughed. "Honestly I could be watching Beetleborgs with my kid right now…" he muttered and snatched away the joint from her. "Give me a second."

She walked up the side of the building and watched as Peter assembled a makeshift lighter. Which is to say he held the joint over one of the lights on the building at a point which it was magnified enough to catch fire. It involved breaking a light and using it like a magnifying glass. He handed it back to her and dusted his hands. "There goes my reputation with kids. Don't smoke like Spider-Man just became 'blaze it, nerd'."

"Quiet nerd or I'll take your lunch money," Mary Jane chuckled. She looked at the joint and nodded. Not, 'pulled down her pants and bent over' like she knew Peter was expecting.

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"I'm sorry, I was just wondering where my opening for marital anal sex is. And it's in your pants. Which aren't down. Did you want me to pick you up or something?"

She pat his cheek. "No, but thanks for asking," she smiled. "But there's no way in hell I'm letting you fuck my ass on top of the _Empire State Building._ I don't care if we can both stick to walls, I'm not comfortable with this kind of height."

Peter immediately switched over to protective husband/dad mode. Whether it was because he loved her or his cock wanted to know what her rectum felt like, she wasn't sure. Probably a bit of both. "We can go somewhere else then."

"We _will_ go somewhere else then," Mary Jane said with a pop of her eyebrows.

"Chrysler building?" She shook her head. "Avengers Mansion?"

"The _Avenger's Mansion?"_

"They suggested in a none-too-kind way that I was gay or incapable of getting laid. Because I'm a geek." He sniffled. "They hurt my feelings, MJ."

"Those _ruffians_!"

"My wife thinks so too. …Daily Bugle? Jonah hurts my feelings lots _._ "

Mary Jane tapped her foot. Helping Peter had always been what she wanted. Be it in a fight or in his personal life—she loved him more than anything save their daughter, and even then she'd sacrifice herself to save either of them. So when the choice was between shutting up Earth's Mightiest Heroes or tainting Jonah's hallowed grounds, the choice was difficult.

Instead of making a choice, she took a hit. Mary Jane burned the joint with a long, slow breath that made the world start to fade away and shrink and haze up. When she finally stopped she couldn't breathe and crooked her finger to have Peter come closer. She kissed him and passed it all onto him, swaying on her feet. She felt lightheaded, kinda goofy, and… Being so high up was really, really…. She burst out laughing.

"The Bugle," she giggled. "You should… like, fuck me on top of the Bugle, Tiger!"

She fell backward but Peter caught her and they swung all the way to Midtown, mary jane being passed to him via kiss after kiss the entire time. " _Wheee!"_

It wasn't until the morning came that she realized something. Felicia's ass was _fucked_.

* * *

 _A/N: I posted this from my phone. I'm at most half sorry for any errors._


	2. Vitae

**Vitae**

* * *

Mary Jane had gotten a bit of a rude awakening. Her churning stomach woke her up painfully and when she opened her eyes, the sun was bright, the birds were chirping… And her ass hurt.

After she had gotten a good look at her surroundings, her first thought was "My ass hurts," because her ass, cheeks and all, hurt like hell. Seeing the stunted 'doobie' to her right, just by her leg, Mary Jane's following thought, after repeating that her butt hurt and wondering _why_ it did, was "I'm going to kill you, Felicia." Then it was, _"God, my ass hurts..."_

The birds were chirping and the city that never sleeps was wide awake. Her husband was waking up too, slowly stirring in his sleep. Peter was on his back and she was in his lap, a normal enough position for her to wake up in. Mary Jane spent a few peaceful moments watching him sleep. He looked so peaceful. Not to jerk her own chain or anything, but he always slept peacefully around her. But this was different, better. He was smiling in his sleep. It almost made the pain in her butt worth it.

"Where's Annie?" was the first thing out of Peter's mouth, his voice hard and alert. Mary Jane melted inside.

It was the first thing out of his mouth every morning. She didn't mind being a close second on the list of her husband's most treasured things if it was to their child. The nightmares had stopped after Annie was born, but sometimes Peter would still wake up and go to Annie's room to make sure she was okay. It didn't matter if it was before or after midnight, Mary Jane was always there with him.

"Shh, Tiger, shh. She's fine," she cooed.

He relaxed at her gentle coaxing, his hard body, at once ready to spring into action, easing up beneath her. Mary Jane spent a minute looking at him. He was so peaceful, with such a content smile on his face and she wondered what, exactly, was causing it. Was it waking up with her, or waking up _inside_ her? Either way was a plus to her, she supposed, so maybe she wouldn't kill Felicia. That would make Peter sad. Annie too.

Her husband's chestnut hair peeked from underneath his mask, shining with the morning sun. His eyes were covered by his mask, but Mary Jane knew they were slowly shutting as he went back to mostly-sleep. Annie was safe, Mary Jane was with him. Only one more thing mattered to Peter, and he asked about it next.

"You alright Red?"

All things considered, as Mary Jane looked the backdrop of white behind and beneath him—webbing as thick and opaque as bedsheets that contrasting with the stubble of his beard—she was better than alright. She opened her mouth, then closed it. Her breath tasted like… chips. And soda. That explained the empty bottles and bags surrounding them like a shut-in's apartment.

But her stomach gurgled in a way that she recognized easily. She doubted many other wives swallowed for their husbands. With how often Peter was in her throat though, his testicles flush against her chin, she got used to it. Her stomach gurgled with half of a slurry she could feel had come right out of her husband's balls and into her mouth, and then there was still the other, unexplained half. Unexplained because there isn't a polite way to tell Peter, first thing in the morning, that her butt hurt because he'd stuffed it.

She smiled soulfully, pushing down the urge to push something out of her hole. "G'Morning Tiger. I'm okay," she said genuinely, and kissed him, wanting to enjoy the peaceful smile on his face.

He grinned sleepily and he slid his gloved hands up her wide hips and down again, resting them on the meat of her equally wide ass. She snorted—Peter Parker and his wife's ass—that was the real love story here. But his kneading her cheeks, softly groping them, made them feel better, and reminded her of the dull aching of her asscheeks.

"Good morning yourself, Red," he said, holding her close. "Did I miss breakfast?" Her stomach gurgled. "Did _you_ miss breakfast?"

"Oh, I'm stuffed," Mary Jane said, figuring he hadn't woken up all the way yet.

She pushed up from his chest, squinting an eye and ignoring the insistent pressure in her insides. Her hands flat against the rock hard muscles of his body, she wriggled her fingers against them, appreciating him idly. Then she moved just a bit, and regretted it as her insides objected strongly, writhing and choking on the intruder lodged up in her pipes. When she groaned, her throat was dry like she spent the entire night doing that, moaning and screaming, which she probably had. The ache in her ass didn't seem like it could have gotten there without a lot of… noise. Peter groaned himself but didn't yet seem to have the presence of mind to notice why, even though Mary Jane could _feel_ why.

Trying to figure out how any points making her butt hurt for the love of her life's sake landed her on the ideal housewife scale, she asked, "You think I'd make a good wife?" She bit her lip and tried to keep her eyes from crossing due to the pressure up her pipe, knowing that it was pretty up there, and so was her score.

Peter laughed. "Sorry Red, I know a gal who's got you beat."

She groaned again. "That lucky redhead…"

Her hands drifting to her stomach, she noted, appreciated, and sighed at how swollen and bloated it was, like she had reached her first trimester. The gravity of the situation slowly started to sink in as she traced her belly and felt it gurgle, and churn, and ache. Her cutie patootie was pressed flush against Peter's thighs, heavy under her weight, the weight of her stomach, and warm where they touched, the meat of her ass hanging over his muscular legs on either side with only her knees and powers keeping her steady.

Not that she needed it. Peter's hands wouldn't ever let her go. That was something Mary Jane knew without a doubt. Which was a good thing, because they were about eight hundred feet up the air, his _cock_ was stuck inside her _ass_.

Where the butt of her suit was supposed to be was a wide open ass-window, and her fat assflesh spilled out of her tight suit. The formerly tightly packed flesh was cold, choked by her torn costume. Only the gentle ministrations of Peter's hands kept her ass warm, which served to remind her that he'd beat her ass to be as pink as her pussy and as red as her hair, because it stung like hell.

She bit her lip. Her hair, undone at some point in her sleep, hung down to the middle of her back with her bangs sloppy and tossed up in a way that'd make other women jealous. She was rocking the 'woke up like this' look like a pro, and it was because her husband's fat, uncomfortable dick was snug in her tightly packed, uncomfortable backpipe. Mary Jane wondered if she should patent that.

She'd only saw herself because of the mirror in front of her, except it wasn't a mirror. It was the side of an office building. And with a blank face, Mary Jane noted there was a crowd of business formal people inside of it, with more streaming inside from the doors. Just to see _them_.

She looked down at her husband, and at the bag of chips and everything else. "…I don't think I should eat anymore," she said blankly, rubbing her stomach and expecting to feel a kick, but instead she was just ungodly hungry, like she always when she'd slept with the powers on, and unseemly stuffed.

There didn't seem like there was enough space in her stomach to accommodate any solid foods, stuffed with gooey liquid protein and churning as it was. That was a pain in the ass as well, and it was her Peter's fault too.

"I feel like I could eat a horse out of house and home…" Peter groaned with a tired laugh. Mary Jane wasn't surprised. Everything he had was stuck inside her. " _Mmn,_ feel like I could eat you, Red…"

"So long as you promise not to turn into a gigantic spider. Again," she said.

He pulled her close and she didn't have the strength to stop him, or the desire too. Mary Jane was half aware that part of her mind was slowly shutting down to save her from the shame, horror, and event horizon that came when she realized she was getting wet. People were watching them through a window, hundreds of feet up, and she was getting turned on despite the fact that her pussy was the only part of her delicates still covered up.

There was no doubt in her mind how'd they done it. It wasn't coming back to her, yet, but when her husband's big dick wakes up with an eclipsing morning wood up in her cutie patootie, and her twat was covered up and tortuously turned on while he did it, there _weren't_ many different ways that configuration could have gone. When Mary Jane spied an unfamiliar, expensive looking camera and phone nearby on the bed of webbing, suddenly the people inside the office building taking their phones out was less of a problem and more of a, " _Well_..."

Feeling his cock pulsate in her sensitive insides, stewing in a lake of his genetic legacy, she moaned softly, shivering as he ran his lips over her neck and breathed in her hair, his stubble tickling her in the best way. Her pussy throbbed excitedly, nearly jumping at the prospect of sitting on his face and grinding out even a single orgasm to relieve the electric mess of her mind, and Mary Jane almost considered it. She felt wired, hair-brained and…. A little turned on. A lot turned on. Riding her husband's face like the spider-powered cowgirl mother of his child was more appealing than it should have been.

Peter made it worse when he moved, pulling her up in his lap, holding her possessively and pecking her lips like a man of contrasts. A peck in the morning… and his cock up her butt. It made her eyes cross; she loved this man, but his _dick_ was up her _ass_ and that wasn't the most romantic thing to experience.

Mary Jane breathed a steamy " _Fuck_ …" at tasting cherry on his breath, the scent of Felicia's designer weed, and her own special, heated lube that was half of the only reason why her asshole hadn't been roasted by friction burn, and knew that, at some point, Peter had spread her cheeks and spit-shined her butthole before dick-timing her asshole.

And when he stopped, she wondered if he was finally going to realize that Manhattan was up and at them and likely watching them like ants from the ground, watching him fuck his wife in the morning. Her breath hitched. "Wait…"

But no, he shifted his hips, ground them against the soft flesh of her ass, and his cock throbbed like it was saying hello and good morn' to her rectum, which convulsed and gave her hell for letting her husband's big, stupid cock pin her ass like it was a tail and not his third leg.

Mary Jane kept her eyes off of the gaggle of people inside the building in front of her—furtively looking away when four more clamored in. She could barely hear them yelling to " _Come see this_!" and wondered if it was the blood pumping between her ears, the sound of her heartbeat, or the fact that having her husband's schlong sit in her pit took her aural faculties away.

Some took their phones out, talking excitedly, and some waved at them. It was a special type of hell when one woman smacked held her phone number up and pointed blatantly at Peter—giving Mary Jane the 'call me' sign. She Jane focused on her husband to stop herself from passing out from shame of people thinking they were perverts.

"Have I told you how much I love you yet?" Peter asked. She could see the anal-romance in his eyes, no doubt thinking that she'd taken her wifely duties to the next level and shoved him up her backpipe in his sleep to give him a happy, warm start to his day.

He told her that every morning. Always, after that time he'd been to the future and saw himself get killed in a cemetery. In retrospect, having him die of worry for her and Annie was much better, but it didn't seem like she had to worry about that with his cock up her bullied butt, which started to choke and convulse around his shaft wildly like it was threatening her poor ass for its lunch money.

And while lunch money wasn't what she had up there, what she did was more valuable for every woman that wanted her husband's babies. That list was long enough that Mary Jane was a bit too smug about it to not be sociopathic.

"I'm still waiting on that," she said with a crooked smile..

Peter nipped at her lip, nudged her chin with his lips, and trailed down to the pit of her neck, planting soft, insistent kisses there. With his cock up her ass. The more he did it the more she realized that space up there was at a premium, and his dick was hot, and her ass was sensitive, and that the lube still _worked_ because as he started to rock his hips, the hot friction of an on sale water-based heated lubricant was setting her ass on fire and making her pussy weep with frustrated pleasure.

"Love you Mary Jane Parker…" Peter whispered in her ear, sending a violent shiver down her spine.

It was a good thing he kept quiet. Their audience opened the window at seeing him start to rock her in his lap like he did. They wanted to get a good view, men and women watching as Spider-Man rocked her in his lap, their eyes on the voluminous, creamy cheeks of her fat ass slowly rising and falling the barest bit while she tried to keep quiet… but didn't try to stop him because he was making her see stars, and maybe, just maybe, she was a pervert.

Mary Jane balled her hands into fists against his chest and clenched her jaw. Their audience didn't know they were married, that her husband was making a slow, loving, uncomfortable _fuck_ to her like he did every morning, or that now it was with her ass, an even more teeth-gritting, eye crossing affair than usual.

The usual was that Peter would wake up first, spoon her and dick her down into the pillows so they wouldn't wake Annie. He'd make his wife bite her lip in her sleep before she even made breakfast. Now, he wasn't just dicking her down, he was deep-dicking her up her fat, tight, writhing ass while they were in-costume. Their marital bed was replaced by the hugest expanse of webbing she'd ever seen, and her husband's hands were on her wide hips while her sphincter was making all sorts of plea bargains in exchange for him taking his cock _out_ of her ass instead of trying to stuff it in deeper, even though her pussy was learning to be pretty happy with the tight-fit configuration.

Her asshole's plea bargains all revolved around her never taking it up her chute exchange for using every other hole and crevice she had, from her hands, to her feet to lastly, her reluctantly offered up asscrack. The part of her that could hear her poor asshole being stretched open and fucked raw between her ears made her drool stupidly as it made an offer that she almost couldn't refuse:

"Take it out now, Mary Jane, and I'll relive the pressure of having your husband's cumload lodged up your sigmoid _colon._ It'll end up stewing on the NYC streets, sure, but I promise it'll only hurt like hell whenever you try to sit down. Sure, you won't have a single straight bowel movement for _weeks,_ but it'll be slightly less hell than if you let him _fuck my ass_ again…"

In the building she could see people hold their phones. They weren't just taking pictures, they were _recording_ them. But, apparently, they had recorded _themselves_ if the camera and phone she didn't recognize said anything. She was going to murder Felicia Hardy. Maybe even Peter Parker's silly wife too, but that whimpering redhead was already being ass-assassinated by his fat cock without any muscle relaxant, hundreds of feet in the air, so that was punishment enough, she thought.

It was all too much for Mary Jane. Her pussy was throbbing, Peter was whispering little nothings in her ear that slowly turned hot and dirty, and they were all variations her ass being so _fat_ , or that he'd take responsibility if he managed to put a baby up her ass, or that she'd be gravid and swollen after he was through with her, even though she already felt like she was.

The last straw was when he said that, after making sure their child was safe and had gotten a nice, hearty meal for breakfast—because that's what every growing spider-powered kid needed, as well as a good morning hug and kiss from her parents—Peter was going to _bend_ his wife over, _shove_ her face into a pillow on the ground, and _fuck_ her through the _fucking floor._

Ben and May Parker had really done their number right and made Peter the best father for their child Mary Jane could hope for, and she came her brains out all over his cock because she knew _he wasn't lying_.

Her pussy creaming while her asshole was churned like butter by his cock, Mary Jane rode out the orgasmic high, her pussy clenching on nothing but still trying to wring out the phantom shape of her husband's cock. Her poor ass was busy reconciling with the fact that it was dealing with what her pussy usually did, and that was the very real reality of wringing out her husband's cum inside of her. Now, it was inside her intestines.

Peter's thrusts got harder and more insistent, his balls slowly, heavily tapping against her ass as he sheathed himself in her hot, stewing depths. Their illicit, careless and public anal fuck that would ruin her ability to sit had her pussy smacking wetly against his crotch, their fuck from the night before lewdly and wetly splurting out of her hole on every mistimed outstroke her pit was so stuffed. It still only barely relieved the building, insistent pressure of the junk her husband had fucked up in her trunk, and it was all on camera while Peter fucked it _out_ of her. Now everyone would know that Spider-Man was giving it Spinneret, _hard_ , that she was getting it up the ass, and that she was getting off on it.

His cock swelled, pushed to the edge from being stuck inside her so long, and that pushed the boundaries of her repurposed hole to the edge too. Mary Jane had no doubt that her poor hole would never be the same after this as Peter's stupid, fat peter surged a torpedoed gout of semen up her ass. She was also sure that everyone in Hell's Kitchen had heard her scream when he did.

The people in the office building were open mouthed and wide eyed, faces stuck in shocked smiles as they watched her gyrate on her husband's cock, stifling her scream by chewing her lips. But it didn't end there. Peter clutched her tight to his chest and carelessly railed her through her cum; he dragged her down so she had no choice but to look inside the window and watch their audience as her husband fucked through his own orgasm, which was less of an orgasm and more of a breeding instinct that drove him to piledrive his cock up the wrong place hard enough to bounce his balls off her fat, milky cheeks.

She clutched at his back, her mouth open when her teeth weren't clenched, and her teeth clenched when her tongue wasn't falling out of her mouth. Her fingers couldn't tear through his costume because she'd already done that at one point last night, she found, and the entire time her stomach got bigger, Peter drained his balls up her chute, and her pussy slowly creamed itself in frustrated bliss against his pelvic wall, even as the frothed up mess and moans of their fuck became too much to hold in.

She watched the bags of chips and bottles of pop and plastic crates of food bounce up and down on the bed of webbing like a trampoline, sailing down into the NYC streets and she came hard enough to force his entire cock out, and that made her see stars as their onlookers jumped from her raw scream.

She'd gotten the munchies, gotten her ass fed a viscous, vicious creampie, and gotten fucked up the ass by Peter before she even got a chance to breathe. Mary Jane smiled a crinkled, fucked-dumb smile, even as the sound she made was… unlady-like. Because forcing out a night's worth of her superhuman hubby's cum from her gaped open pit wasn't anything a lady should ever do, but she did it anyway because she wasn't a lady. She was Peter's wife. Quelle surprise.

Mary Jane groaned in relief and frustration while his sperm tumbled out of her ass audibly. She leaned back just enough to rub her pussy into dust, not caring that they were being watched like a zoo exhibit. Peter was still cumming, his iron-hard prick jerking for something to breed as hot gouts of sperm landed on her back and head in a showering aftermath of marital anal sex. Like a good, fucked stupid in public wife, Mary Jane put it between her asscheeks and rocked with him, her mind half gone as they got each other off.

It was only them. Peter's face was between her tits, then her tits were squeezed into his mouth and he sucked her hard enough to leave her teats swollen, but it was only them, Mary Jane tried to convince herself. _Not_ the wide eyed, shocked faces of early morning office workers watching Spinneret get her fat spinneret blown out by Spider-Man's fat dick while they recorded it.

She fell like a sack of potatoes on top of him, her arms too weak to keep herself up and her legs too weak because her ass being gaped open, like she felt it was, was a blow to her superhuman equilibrium. Peter still wasn't soft, not yet, but he had stopped cumming. Mary Jane's hole felt hot and dry-heaving because there was just no more cum to push out, and her cheeks felt cold as his cum started to cool in the cold, Manhattan morning breeze.

And if her husband wanted to go again… well, he'd have to fuck her in her sleep. Mary Jane wasn't just tired, she was exhausted. Emotionally and... Anally. Needed to go into a coma to retreat from the shameful fact, embarrassment, and turn-on that her husband just railed her in the ass in front of seven, no… twenty-four, recording people, and she came from the breeding comfort of his dick. In her ass.

Her married life with her Amazing Spider-Man was just full of surprises. Felicia was going to have to die. Murder by her husband's fat cock up the catburglar's soap-lubed ass sounded like hell enough for Annie May Parker's favorite aunt, and Mary Jane Parker's pot dealing pain in the asshole.

Peter muttered to her as she drifted off to sleep. His voice was like a lullaby. "Red? Do you hear cameras? …And why are you in costume…?"

* * *

Spending the last few minutes getting the remains of webbing out of her hair—Annie May Parker was a freckled terror—Felicia sat down on her couch with her morning wine and laptop. Most people drank coffee in the morning. Most people hadn't swiped vintage 1800s era wine before babysitting their ex's kid.

She loaded her feed for the morning news—mostly reports of anything interesting to swipe—and then give back if Peter gave her _that_ look _._ There wasn't anything interesting except… huh. J. Jonah Jameson's office at the Bugle had been broken into and wrecked. He reported a missing, not even out of the box phone and camera.

And then there was the _'SPIDER-MAN SEXTAPE!'_ all over her twitter feed.

Felicia clicked on the link, because of course she did, unsurprised and expecting another weird gay porn cosplay fuck of some guy dressed in a cheaply made imitation of Peter's costume, or a weirdly well-made imitation of Peter's costume in a straight porn production, but only that. Pornhub was down due to traffic related problems though, so she had to go to Xvideos.

What she saw took a second for her to process. Then, she spit out her wine all over the screen which, coincidentally, had Mary Plain's pink asshole staring a camera in the face, inside of Jonah's unwrecked office. Then Peter was two fingers knuckles deep in her guts, and Felicia started to choke a little.

"What the _fuck_...?"

"You say something Aunt Cat?" Annie came running into the room, flipping over the couch to sit next to her. "What're you watching?" she asked innocently.

Felicia jumped and her wine went flying. "Go to your room!" she shrieked.

 _"Mn, you like that, Tiger? How it your fingers feel deep inside my a-"_

"Was that my mommy?"

"Room! Now!"

Annie slowly backed away as Felicia pointed to the general direction of her room. Felicia spent the next few minutes watching her ex's wife flex her pink, gaped open hole in front of the camera while she laughed like an idiot. The she watched her ex go spelunking in his wife's asshole. Inside the Daily Bugle. On camera. Felicia wondered if she had anything to do with that… and then she watched it again.

If she did have something to do with it, she _had_ always wondered what Peter was like when he got high. As she wiped off her laptop and shut it before she walked to the window, she had a feeling she knew now. Felicia also had a feeling that Mary Jane, and her asshole, knew too. And… if the helicopter circling the expanse of webbing that looked like a gigantic funnel web in downtown Manhattan—when Peter was hers she couldn't help but to learn obscure facts about spider webs—was any indication, she had a feeling all of Manhattan knew. The world too.

"Huh…" Felicia sighed breathlessly.

So, she shut her blinds and climbed back into bed. Not for the first time idly wondering if she had fucked up in not accepting the man behind Spider-Man's mask sooner. She knew she did, but this was just pissing her off.

* * *

 _A/N: Thanks for the reviews and favorites and et cetera. Drop a line if you liked it. Also, did you see the PGW trailer for Spider-Man PS4? Five words: Oh, yes. And Mary Jane._


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